Thank you so much for the reviews and the favorites and follows. This story is almost done. I think one or two more chapters left. Not sure if I should do a sequel or an Epilogue.


After Dad found out about my little discussion with Mom, he grounded me for a week. I didn't even care. The day after my punishment ended, Finn dropped by.

"Sam, don't ever get into trouble like that again," he said as soon as I opened the door. He pushed past me and headed straight for my room. "You are seriously messing up my social life."

"And hello to you too," I said, following him down the hallway.

I wasn't sure if Finn even heard me. He had disappeared into my closet, his hands digging through my sweaters for his stash of condoms. While I wasn't a big fan of Finn and Santana's extracurricular activities, I was glad Finn was responsible enough to use protection. Unfortunately, he lived with two nosy parents and an even nosier sister. Thus, he got all the benefits of sex while I was saddled with keeping his condoms. He emerged from the closet with two condoms in his hand and a dust bunny on his shoulder.

"Thanks again, Sam. You know, you're welcome to dip into the stash as well."

"Um…I'll keep that in mind." I sat back on my bed, where my copy of Invisible Man lay waiting for me. Based on a suggestion from Mercedes, I had checked out the book weeks ago but hadn't made it past the third chapter. "So what are you and Santana doing tonight?" He grinned and looked at the condoms in his hand."I mean, before that." I fiddled with my fingernails, nervous as could be, even though I'd thought this through multiple times.

"I was thinking maybe we could hang out tonight." Finn grinned.

"Wait a minute. I've been hounding you for months to go out, and now all of a sudden you're the one suggesting it?" I shrugged.

"I figured now was as good a time as any." The smile faded from Finn's face as he plopped down beside me on the bed.

"Sorry about the breakup with Mercedes."

"It wasn't a breakup. We weren't even dating."

"Yeah, but still…"

"No, it's okay. Maybe it was the wake-up call I needed." I glanced at Finn's compassionate face. So far, so good. "So, what do you think? Can we all hang out tonight?" Finn brushed the dust from his shirt.

"Well, Santana and I were planning to go to a movie, but I guess we can make it a group thing."

"The movies? I was hoping we could do something more social." I took a deep breath. "How about…bowling."

"Bowling? Are you kidding? No offense, but you're not exactly the best bowler in the world."

"Yeah, I know, but I figured it'd be fun. Plus, it'd give me a better opportunity to talk to girls." Finn pressed his lips together. Finally, he nodded.

"Nothing good was showing at the movies anyway." He rose from the bed. "Let me call Santana and see if she can invite a few of her friends." Finn and I walked back to the front door.

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate this."

"Hey, no problem." He opened the door. "I'm just surprised you want to go bowling. I thought you hated it." I smiled.

"I guess you could say I've had a change of religion."

Finn was right, of course. I hated bowling, and I was horrible at it. Every spring, the church had a "Bowling for Jesus" tournament that raised money for the homeless. My team always came in dead last. As pathetic as it sounded, I was looking for any reasonable excuse to bump into Mercedes. Being that she didn't return any of the messages I left for her, I knew I couldn't pop up at the coffee shop; that seemed too desperate. At least with bowling, I could maintain a small amount of self-respect.

I had called the bowling alley earlier that day. They limited league bowling to three days a week, including today, so I figured there was a pretty good chance that Frank would be there tonight. Of course, Frank was the bowler, not Mercedes, so even if he was there tonight, there was no guarantee that she'd be with him. She could have easily been working, or hanging out at home, or perhaps she and Frank could have skipped the bowling alley altogether in order to do God-knows-what. But just the possibility of her being there was enough motivation to go.

Upon entering, I scanned the lanes but didn't see her. Before I could look any further, I spotted Finn and Santana waving me over to a table. Santana stood and hugged me while Finn stuffed the last bit of a corn dog into his mouth. Then he mumbled something, but I couldn't understand a word.

"He says hello," Santana translated.

"How could you possibly understand what he just said?"

"It's a gift." She shrugged. "He actually said you should quit slow poking and get your shoes, but I was trying to give you the abridged version." She nodded toward a lane. "I called up a few of my friends, and they've already reserved a lane."

I looked at Santana's friends, all cool-looking, with their designer jeans and perfect hair. They reminded me of the kind of people at her party—the kind that usually didn't want anything to do with me.

"Now hurry up and get your shoes," Santana said. "Rachel's already in line."

My heart sank. Rachel. I had hoped that Finn and Santana hadn't invited her, but I should have known better. Rachel waved at me as I neared the counter. She was decked out in makeup and a top that showed off a little too much of her stomach. I wondered if it was for my benefit.

"I didn't know you were coming out tonight," I said. She smiled. She had gotten a lot better at applying lip gloss.

"Santana's trying to hook me up with one of her friends." I looked back at the lane.

"The one with the earrings or the one wearing the sunglasses?"

I knew neither of those guys were the object of her affection, but I had to ask. She shook her head.

"Good Lord, no. Those guys are more into hair care than I am."

"Good. They're probably too old for you, anyway."

"Why do you say that?" She twirled a strand of hair around her pointy index finger. "Seniors can be as immature as sophomores."

"What would your parents say if they knew you were trying to date someone two years older?"

Rachel started doing that whole giggling thing again.

"Well, that all depends on the guy."

I took a step forward, away from Rachel. The line wasn't moving nearly fast enough. All of a sudden, Rachel stopped laughing.

"So what happened between you and that girl you were seeing?" She placed her hand on my arm. "Why'd y'all break up?" I stared at her hand. Her fingers were bony. Nothing like Mercedes's.

"Well…" I thought about trying to explain the technicalities of ending a non-relationship, but instead I shook my head. "I'm not really sure why things ended like they did." Rachel nodded toward the door.

"Well, just so you're not surprised, she's here. With another guy."

I spun around. Sure enough, Mercedes and a guy I assumed to be Frank stood just inside the entrance. Mercedes wore a pair of black boots and a denim skirt. Her blouse was tight and low-cut. Frank carried a small bowling bag. With his free hand, he waved to a bunch of people on the other side of the building. Then he leaned extremely close to Mercedes, whispered something into her ear, and headed off. She started toward the counter, but stopped as soon as our gazes met. Mercedes looked stunned. At first, I thought she was going to run off in the opposite direction. But after a few seconds of hovering, she headed toward me. She could only take mini-steps, her skirt was so tight.

"I'd better go talk to her," I said to Rachel.

"But what about your shoes?"

I heard her, but I couldn't have responded if I'd wanted to. My brain was too busy trying to formulate what I was going to say to Mercedes. I met her halfway between the entrance and the counter.

"Hey."

"Hey, Samuel." She glanced behind me. "Who's that? Your new girlfriend?" I looked back at Rachel as she stared Mercedes down.

"That's Finn's little sister."

"She's cute."

"She's fifteen."

"Two years isn't that much of an age difference," Mercedes said. "Frank is four years older than me."

I looked toward the other side of the bowling alley, where Mercedes's man was talking with a group of guys.

"I heard you went by the nursing home," I said. "That was nice of you."

"I like the old-timers. They don't bullshit you. They tell you exactly what's on their mind." She laughed. "Plus, I think Mr. Rollins has a crush on me."

Talking to her now, listening to her laugh, breathing in her smell, it was almost like that talk at her house had never happened. How could people who got along so well just up and decide to stop talking to each other?

"They really liked the Danishes," I said. "Thanks for leaving one for me as well." Mercedes looked down as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"They were just some old pastries we were going to throw out anyway. I figured I'd give them to folks who would appreciate them."

From the corner of my eye, I could see that Finn and Santana had already started the game. Mercedes must have noticed too.

"You'd better go. You shouldn't keep your friends waiting." I stepped in her path, blocking her from escaping.

"Maybe I can come by the coffee shop sometime."

"Samuel…"

"I miss talking to you." I took another step toward her and placed my hand on her hip. She didn't move closer to me, but she didn't back away, either. "Don't you miss talking to me?"

"Yes, but…it's complicated." She placed her hand on mine. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me. Just tell me—"

"What's taking you so long? I thought you'd have that pitcher by now."

Both Mercedes and I jumped. I turned to see Frank grimacing at me.

"Sorry, baby." Mercedes dropped her hand and backed away from me. "This is my friend Samuel. The one I told you about." Frank's face immediately relaxed. He even smiled.

"Yeah, the preacher's kid." He shook my hand. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."

Unfortunately, I could not say the same about him. Frank wrapped his arm around Mercedes's waist; his hand settled right where mine had just rested.

"Now, I know y'all are friends and all, but don't go turning Mercedes into some type of saint."

"Me, a saint?" She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know me, baby. Why be good when it's funner to be bad?" Funner? Mercedes was too smart to sound so stupid.

"The guys are about to start the next game." Frank patted Mercedes's butt, and I swear to God, I wanted to punch him.

"I'm going to grab that pitcher."

"I'll meet you at the lane, baby." Her voice was as sweet and artificial as cherry-flavored bubble gum.

"Samuel, nice to meet you," Frank said, before heading toward the counter. "Nice guy," I mumbled once he was out of range.

"He'll do, for now." All I could do was frown. Mercedes crossed her arms. "I'm sorry you don't like what you see, but this is who I am now. A girl who just likes to have fun. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You know this isn't you."

And before she could respond, I turned and marched toward the exit. It wasn't until I reached the door that I realized that, for once, I was glad to leave.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. I reached over and slapped the top of my alarm clock. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. I cracked my eyelids open and let my vision adjust to the dark. The alarm clock read 3:24. I sat up and followed the buzzing sound to the other side of the room. My cell phone was jumping across the top of my desk like it was dancing. I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. Mercedes.

"Hello?" I said, my voice full of sleep and fear.

"Meet me outside. Now."

The line went dead. Is she serious? Does she really expect me to— Suddenly, a car horn blared from outside my window. Yep. She's serious. I grabbed my robe, stuffed my feet into my sneakers, and crept out of my room. Luckily, it was on the first floor, adjacent to the kitchen. I only hoped Mercedes's honking hadn't woken up my parents. I paused at the base of the stairs, straining my ears for the slightest hint of sound. But after standing in silence for a few minutes, I headed to the kitchen and slipped outside. Mercedes leaned against her aunt's car. As soon as she saw me, she marched my way.

"Mercedes, what's going on?" I whispered. "Do you know what time it is? Is everything all right?"

As Mercedes got closer, I saw streaks of mascara on her cheeks. She still wore her black boots and jean skirt, but she moved a lot quicker now than she had earlier that night. She planted her hands on her hips.

"You are such a bastard."

"What?

""You know how I feel about my dad. And you still called him!"

"Mercedes, calm down." I pulled her farther away from the house. "What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" She poked me in the chest so hard that I almost fell over.

"You called Dad and told him I was a slut. And now he's forcing Aunt Gwen to kick me out of the house!"

"Of course I didn't—" My head jerked to the side as her hand exploded against my cheek.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me!" Heat and pain radiated across my face.

"Mercedes, I don't even know what you're talking about!"

As my eyes regained their focus, I saw a porch light switch on across the street. Mercedes reached back to slap me again, but this time, I grabbed her hands and pinned them to her sides.

"Will you please calm down and tell me what's going on?" Tears streamed down her face.

"All I know is that my dad is coming this weekend to take me back to Virginia." She sniffled. "He said I was morally corrupt. He said he was coming to stop me from ruining someone else's life."

"I promise, I didn't call him." I kept a tight grip on her arms. "But maybe he should come down and talk to you—"

"No! I hate him!" She twisted enough to get one arm free, but I quickly grabbed it and pinned it back in place. "I don't want anything to do with him!"

Behind me, the back door swung open and our porch light flickered on. I glanced over my shoulder and watched Dad shuffle onto the steps.

"Samuel, what's going on out here?"

"Nothing, Dad. Mercedes and I were just talking."

"No, it's not nothing. "She continued to struggle to get out of my grip. "All you preachers are alike. You think you can control everybody." Dad strode over to us.

"Young lady, you need to bring your voice down."

"And you need to stay out of other people's business!" She turned to me and finally stopped wrangling in my grip. "You've got five seconds to get your goddamn hands off me."

"Do you promise to calm down?"

"I promise that if you don't let me go, your dad will have to pry my hands away from your throat." Well, at least she was speaking calmly now. I slowly released her. She rubbed her wrists. "And I thought you really cared about me."

"I do care about—"

"Fuck you, Samuel Evans." She flipped me the finger. "Fuck both of y'all. I'm out of here."

"Mercedes, wait!"

I ran after her, but I might as well have been yelling at a brick wall. Mercedes stormed to her car, refusing to even look in my direction. A few seconds later, she roared down the street. I watched the smoke from the car's exhaust dissipate into the darkness.

"I just don't understand…."

"Let's talk more inside," Dad said. "We've already woken up enough of the neighborhood tonight."

I followed Dad into the kitchen, where Mom was already waiting.

"Will someone please explain what's going on? I was about to call the police." I sunk into a chair.

"Mercedes is mad. Really mad. And I don't have any idea why." I rubbed my face; no doubt my cheek was red from that slap. "She thinks I called her father and said horrible things about her." I turned to Dad. "You didn't call him, did you?"

"I haven't talked to him since the day after Santana's party," he said.

I shook my head; my face started to sting even more. Why in the world would she think I called her dad? What would give her that— I snapped my head up and looked at Mom. Her gaze was glued to the floor.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Mom nodded, her mouth grim.

"Yes, I called Isaac." Dad scratched his head.

"Why didn't you say anything to me about this?"

"I've been saying something ever since Mercedes showed back up." Mom clutched her silk robe shut in one hand, bracing herself against the wall with the other. "I'm sorry, Samuel, but Mercedes is capsizing! I couldn't stand around and let her pull you down right along with her."

"She's not—"

"She sleeps around. She drinks and does drugs, and Lord knows what else." Mom tightened her grip on her robe. "I wanted to see the good in her, I really did, but I can't take that chance anymore. You've just been so disrespectful lately. And then when I found those condoms in your room—"

"You went through my stuff?" I jumped from my seat. "You searched my room?" Her gaze dropped to the floor again.

"I found them by accident." I snorted. There was no way Mom could have "accidentally" stumbled across those condoms.

"You know, I don't even care that you went through my stuff. Just tell me—did you call Mercedes a slut?" Dad stepped beside me.

"Samuel, why don't you calm down—"

"Did you call her a slut or not, Mom?"

"Of course not. You know I'd never use that type of language. All I did was tell Isaac the truth—that his daughter was morally irresponsible and was a danger to my child." I squeezed my hands into fists.

"Thanks to you, her aunt is being forced to kick her out of the house. Now she doesn't have anywhere to go but back to her parents' house."

"Are you sure?" Dad asked. "I know Isaac's strict, but surely he's not that strict."

"Your father's right—there must be some mistake." Mom cleared her throat. "While I did strongly suggest that he come down here and deal with Mercedes, I never asked him to kick her out."

I turned my gaze to our tiled kitchen floor. I was afraid what would happen if I continued looking at my parents.

"I'm not making a mistake about this. Her father is coming down here to drag Mercedes back to Virginia, whether she wants to go or not."

"Well, perhaps it's for the best that she goes back home," Mom said. "They can give her the support she needs."

Mom obviously knew nothing about what was best for Mercedes. But I shouldn't have been surprised—she didn't even know what was best for me anymore. I watched their shadows, long and oblique, as they moved toward me. I backed away.

"Samuel, please. Say something," Mom said. "I know you're upset, but maybe—"

"You know what?" I let out a deep, sarcastic laugh. "This is really fucked up." Mom and Dad inhaled sharply. For a second, all time stopped.

"Samuel, you need to watch your language," Dad finally said. I hated that my eyes were watering.

"We're supposed to help people. How is this going to help Mercedes?"

"Mercedes has some serious demons," Dad said. "If anyone can help her, her family—"

"This is wrong." I pointed to Mom." She's wrong." Dad narrowed his eyes. "She's my wife, and she's your mother. You will show her some respect." I tried to back up more, but I had already been forced against the wall. "This isn't just about Mercedes," he said. "We're trying to look out for your best interests as well." Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. "You're young. You're highly impressionable." I shook his hand off me.

"This is fucked up!" Dad held his hands up and backed away.

"I think you'd better go to bed before you say something else you'll regret."

"I don't regret anything I've said tonight." I cut my eyes toward my mother. "I'm not the one who did something wrong."

Three days later, I still hadn't spoken to Mom. I was actually glad the youth group was heading to Savannah for our retreat. It would be a lot easier to avoid Mom if we weren't sleeping under the same roof. I hadn't talked to Mercedes either, but not for lack of trying. That morning, like every other morning, I had tried to call her cell. Usually, I got sent directly to voice mail, but today, I got a message saying her service had been disconnected.

I stepped onto the bus hoping to find an empty seat, but most were occupied by at least one other person. Rachel spotted me, timidly smiled, and moved over a little in her seat. I didn't really want to sit beside her—I didn't think I could stand sitting through three hours of giggling—but the only other available seats were across from Donna and Dora, and I sure didn't want to sit next to them. I plopped down beside Rachel.

"You couldn't convince Finn to come?"

"Are you kidding? He and Santana are practically joined at the hip. Ever since they…well, you know…it's like they can't go ten minutes without talking to each other."

"So you know about Finn and Santana?" She nodded.

"You should see the way they look at each other. It's like they can't wait to—"

"Please. No details." I squinted at Rachel and focused on her eyes. "Hey—what happened to all the makeup?" Rachel brought her hand to her face.

"Do you know how long it takes to put that stuff on every day? I like makeup, but not more than those twenty minutes of sleep I gain back by not putting it on." She looked down at her lap. "It didn't seem to be doing much good, anyway."

Maybe it was the softness of her voice, but for some reason, I wanted to comfort her. I took her chin and tilted her face up. "You look better without the makeup."

Rachel smiled, and I momentarily forgot that she was my best friend's fifteen-year-old sister. Suddenly aware of how I was holding her face, I let go of her chin.

"Um…I'd better go see what the holdup is."

I scampered down the aisle. Rachel was way too young for me. Plus, as much as I wished otherwise, she wasn't Mercedes. As I stepped off the bus, I pulled my phone out and stared at the blank screen. Before I lost my nerve, I punched in her aunt's phone number.

"Hello? Mercedes?" her aunt answered.

"No, this is Samuel."

"Oh. Hello, Samuel. I'm sorry. I was praying this was Mercedes." Her voice sounded dry and scratchy. "By any chance, have you seen her lately?"

"Not since she showed up at my house a few days ago." I glanced behind me, where the driver was loading the last of the suitcases. "Is something wrong?"

"The last time I saw her was when she said she was going to talk to you, three days ago. I just assumed she was trying to blow off some steam, but by the time I woke up the next morning, she was gone." Ms. Smith sniffled on the other end of the phone. "I knew she was upset about her father forcing her to move back home, but I never expected her to run off." I moved farther away from the bus.

"What about her clothes?"

"All gone. All she left was my car keys on the table," she said. "She called me two days ago and said she was okay and staying with a friend. She wouldn't tell me anything else

"Do you think she's staying with Frank?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know enough about the boy to look up his address in the phone book." I could tell Ms. Smith was crying now. "If she only came back home, I'd find a way for her to stay with me, even if Isaac kicked us both out," she said. "I don't even like the damn house that much." I looked around. I was the only person not on the bus.

"Maybe I could find her." From the corner of my eye, I watched as Mrs. Anderson waddled down the bus steps. "That is, if she hasn't left town yet."

"No, I don't want to pull you from whatever you're doing. I just need to sit tight and—"

"Please, let me help."

Even though it was Mom, not me, who had helped get Mercedes into this mess, I still felt guilty. Maybe this was God's way of giving me a second chance. She sighed.

"Well, it would make me feel a little better…."

"Then it's settled," I said. "I'll find her, and I'll bring her back home. I promise."

I flipped my phone shut just as Mrs. Anderson reached me.

"Let's go, Samuel." She tapped her clipboard. "We're going to be late if we don't leave now."

I looked at the itinerary in Mrs. Anderson's thick fingers.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to make the trip."

"And why not?" I leaned back as she glared at me.

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"Samuel, you're the president of the youth group. What would your father say—"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Anderson, but the youth group can take care of itself." I backed away from her. "Maybe I can drive to Savannah tomorrow morning." She shook her head.

"If you're not on this bus when we pull out of the parking lot, don't bother making the trip."

I glanced at the bus. Rachel pressed her face against the window, her eyes filled with worry. I flashed her a half smile before turning back to Mrs. Anderson.

"I'm sorry, but I can't go."

I waved good-bye to Rachel's frowning face, then headed to my car, not even bothering to grab my suitcase from the bus. As I slid behind the steering wheel, I focused on my father's white Cadillac parked in front of the sanctuary. I knew I should run into the church and explain to him why I was skipping the trip, but after a few seconds, I decided against it. I was looking for Mercedes, and like she had said before, girls like her didn't go to church.

I spent all afternoon cruising the city. I went to all the usual places where I thought Mercedes could be—the coffee shop, the community college campus, the bowling alley, and even the nursing home. My phone lit up with calls from my parents, Finn, and Rachel. I ignored them all. On my fifth trip to the bowling alley, I spotted Frank without Mercedes. At the far end of the building. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans as I marched toward his lane. Frank frowned as I got closer, but not like he was mad at me. It was more like he couldn't quite place me. A cigarette dangled at the corner of his mouth, and smoke billowed from his nose. I stuck out my hand.

"Samuel Evans." His eyes brightened. "Mercedes's friend, right?" He shook my hand. "How's the hellion doing?" I was amazed he could talk without removing the cigarette from his lips.

"That's why I'm here." I stood up straight and tall, as if that would make me more imposing. "Her aunt hasn't seen her in a few days. I hoped you might know where she is."

"Sorry, but I haven't seen her either." He removed the cigarette from his mouth to take a sip of beer. "She dumped me, although I ain't really broken up about it. I kind of lost interest in her." He winked. "She hadn't been putting out like she used to. I guess she didn't have enough free milk to pass around." I crossed my arms.

"I wouldn't know." Frank took a long drag of the cigarette before propping it on the corner of an ashtray.

"You got to be shittin' me. All that time y'all spent together, I just figured she had moved on to you."

"You figured wrong." What did Mercedes ever see in this guy?

"Well, it's your loss." Frank picked up his bowling ball and wiped it off with a cloth. "Hold on a sec."

He ambled to the lane, repositioned the ball in his hands, and then hurled it down toward the pins. They exploded in every direction. He walked back to me, pausing to high-five the other bowlers.

"Like I said before, I haven't seen her." He picked up his cigarette and knocked a few loose ashes from the end.

"If you ever find her, do me a favor and get my shirt back."

Four hours and umpteen prayers later, I stood at the entrance of the reggae club. The same bouncer who had allowed me in before stood at the door. He looked even larger than last time. I cautiously smiled at him.

"I don't know if you remember me, but—"

"Of course I know who you are. You're Pastor Evans's kid." I frowned.

"If you knew who I was, why'd you let me into the club that night?" He cracked a smile.

"Mercedes's a friend. She said that if I let you in, she'd keep you out of trouble." He stepped back and let a couple of guys exit the building. "She seemed really sad when she showed up tonight." I lunged forward.

"Is she still here?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I really need to see her. It's important." He stared at me long and hard, and then moved out of the way.

"You know the rules. No smoking. No drinking."

He picked up a rubber stamp and motioned for my hand. This time, I remembered to offer it palm-down. I went into the building, paid the cashier, and slid into the club. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and smoke. I knew she would be either on the dance floor or at the bar. The dance floor was just about empty. I moved my gaze to the bar, and immediately spotted her. As always, she looked sexy. And dangerous. Her red halter top dipped low on her chest, and her black shorts could have been mistaken for underwear, they were so short. I strode to the bar and pulled up a stool beside her. She didn't look surprised to see me. She might have even smirked.

"Aunt Gwen send you?" I nodded.

"She's worried about you." Mercedes grabbed her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She leaned over to the guy next to her.

"Got a light?"

He whipped out a Bic and lit her cigarette. She puffed on it a few seconds; the end changed from white to red to dark gray. She leaned her head back, blew smoke into the air, and then flicked a few ashes into an already full ashtray. Smoking is the only thing I don't do, I remembered Mercedes telling me. But I didn't say anything. I just watched her take puff after puff. The cigarette slowly burned itself away.

"I have so many other bad habits, I figured one more couldn't hurt." Smoke escaped from her mouth as she talked. "You want to try to convince me to stop smoking?"

"I learned a long time ago that I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do." I gestured toward the bottles of alcohol. "No tequila tonight?"

"Chris won't serve me anymore. Says I've had my limit." She glared at him. "Jackass." I moved closer to her. I couldn't smell her usual coffee-and-vanilla scent under all the smoke and alcohol.

"Maybe you should go home."

"I don't have a home to go to."

"Your aunt says you can come back and stay with her. She's not kicking you out, no matter what your dad does. She said she'd even move."

"Even if she wanted to, Aunt Gwen can't afford to move anywhere else. Plus, I've already gotten her into enough trouble." She ground what little remained of the cigarette into the ashtray. "I get everyone into trouble." Mercedes fished another cigarette from her purse and propositioned the guy next to her for another light. As she took a puff, she stared at my cheek. "If I said I was sorry for slapping you, would you believe me?" I nodded. "Just so we're clear, I'm apologizing for hitting you. I'm not sorry for what I said."

"But I didn't do anything."

"It's guilt by association. If your parents were to blame, they only did it because you wouldn't leave me alone."

"You know, I haven't spoken to my mom since that night," I said. "I cursed at her." Mercedes arched an eyebrow.

"Really? What did you say?"

"I dropped the f bomb. Twice."

"Man, you must have been really upset."

"I was." I locked my eyes with hers. "I really do care about you." Her gaze melted a little.

"I know. And that's why you shouldn't…why I can't…" She shook her head. "God, I need a drink. This is not a time to be sober."

"Where have you been staying?"

"At some trashy motel." She blew a smoke ring from her mouth. "I can pick up my check from the coffee shop tomorrow. As soon as I cash it, I'm out."

"But what about school?"

"Community college isn't exactly Harvard. I can always start again." She finished her second cigarette. "Tell Aunt Gwen I'll call her as soon as I get to wherever I'm going." My heartbeat intensified as she slipped off her stool.

"Are you leaving?"

"There's no point in sticking around if the bartender won't serve me. I think I have a bottle of tequila at the motel."

"Don't go." I jumped from my seat. "You want to dance?"

"I can't dance when I'm not happy," she said as she walked off. I rushed after her.

"But you've been drinking. You can't drive."

"Of course I can't drive. I don't have a car," she said. "I'll call a cab."

"But—"

"Thanks for checking up on me, sweetie, but this isn't your element." Mercedes patted my cheek. "You need to go home. You don't belong here."

"Why don't you come home with me? I'm sure if we talk—"

"I'm through with talking," she said. "I'm going back to my room, finding that bottle of tequila, and getting drunk. And unless you plan on drinking, you're not invited." I grabbed her hand.

"Fine. Let's get drunk."